Reasons
by TheFantabulousPandemonium
Summary: Romano smiled at him – well, almost, but it was close enough for him to get excited about. PruMano, Oneshot.


_Reasons_

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><p>He huffed, frowning – because he was definitely <em>not<em> pouting, dammit – and pushed his brother away. Why did everyone have'ta act all surprised and shit when he actually showed an emotion other than anger or dislike?

It was fuckin' annoying.

He huffed again, stalking out of the room. It was slightly hard to see, thanks to the hair in his face – 'cause he was _not_ crying, no matter how wet his cheeks were; it was raining inside the building again, that's all – and he did not want to stay in the same room as his dumbass of a brother and that bastard kraut.

He scrubbed furiously at his face with a sleeve, hiding in a nearby unlocked room as Feliciano ran by, calling out his name.

No, he refused to let that _idiota_ find him, especially like this. He would stay here until this fit had passed, damnit. Then he could go back to his pretending.

He sighed and, for once, allowed the tears to fall freely.

Gilbert did not know what time he returned to his room that night, but he remembered his surprise when he found the door unlocked. Of course, he might've left it unlocked earlier so he could get in after a long night of drinking, but that was irrelevant.

It had been hard to open too, so he'd eventually just kicked it open, only to hear a whimper of pain. The whimper had come from a still half-asleep Italian who had been sitting with his back to the door and Gilbert couldn't help but gape.

Now, he was stuck in bed – head-pounding fucking headache included – with a mostly naked South Italy curled against him and no recollection of the previous night. He'd hyperventilated somewhat at first, but had quickly been silenced by the elder Italian brother frowning in his sleep and shifting closer.

The scene had frozen him, and he was quickly struck with how utterly adorable it was and how completely unalike the two brothers were.

Sure, Feliciano was always happy and smiling while Romano spent most of his days glaring at the world, he felt that Lovino's smiles – when the little firecracker _did_ smile, anyways – were more genuine. He had coaxed a few from the younger half-nation when the boy had been younger, and Romano smiled almost every day at Spain.

Hell, even France had made the kid smile once.

Gilbert lay back down, his head still pounding from that damned headache, watching for a second in amusement as the waifer-like Italian adjusted unconsciously to his new position, wrapping his arms around the Prussian's waist and burying his head into the crook of his neck.

He smirked, closing his eyes and tangling a hand in Romano's hair. Whatever happened last night to have the Italian in his bed must've been worth it.

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><p>Feliciano was worried. His <em>fratello<em> had not come back to their room last night after he'd been arguing with Germany. It was only six in the morning, but maybe Romano was wandering the halls? He nodded to himself, preparing to go out and find his brother.

He passed an open door a few minutes later, after trying and failing to find Romano at the hotel bar. He would've continued past – Ludwig _had_ been trying to teach him manners – but he heard the sounds of someone cooking, and it smelled delicious, like…pasta. A small hum of delight escaped his lips and he bounced inside. What he did not expect to find, however, was his brother standing at the built in stove with a far away look on his face and staring at the wall while he stirred something gently.

Feliciano found this odd, as Romano didn't usually cook for anyone besides himself and Spain, but shrugged and tried to leave as quietly as he came. He smiled as he closed the door, making sure not to slam it, and turned to skip back to his room.

It was no wonder his _fratello_ didn't come back, especially if he found Antonio.

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><p>He must've been dreaming, since he felt the fabric of a dress swish about his legs. Rome looked so tall too, watching Feliciano playing in the fields like he was.<p>

He was quietly content, playing boredly with a flower – tearing off the petals, one by one – ignored for the moment. It didn't really matter at time, because he knew they would have to notice him some time or the other.

He remembered the first time he'd disobeyed Rome.

The man had looked so surprised when he cursed – something he'd learned from an irate human who had been cheated on his produce at the piazza – and had picked him up, examining him. Romano thought the frown didn't suit him at all.

"Don't curse." Was all that was said before he was put back down and ignored again for Feliciano. He'd made the connection – albeit not a very good one – that being troublesome equaled attention and resolved to do his best to get into as much trouble as he could, if it meant he would get Rome's attention for more than a few seconds.

Again, it wasn't a very good strategy, but it was what had worked in his childish mind.

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><p>Gilbert woke again to an even more painful headache – brought on by the harsh sunlight streaming in through the open window – and an empty bed. He groaned, disappointed, until he saw a glass of water, a change of clothes and a bottle of painkillers on the nightstand. The room was warm, and it smelled curiously close to Feliciano's delicious cooking mixed with West's.<p>

He changed slowly, after downing both the water and pills, stretching out stiff muscles and cracking his back before ambling into the kitchenette that he was pretty sure was in every room. He was surprised to find Romano with his back to him, cooking, seemingly relaxed. The Prussian grinned chuckling silently to himself before sneaking up on the unsuspecting Italian.

Lovino froze as hands encircled his waist, thumbs hooking into the hem of yesterday's dress pants. A hissing sort-of snicker met his ears and he tensed even more, but strangely didn't remove the offending hands. Prussia took this as an incentive to rest his chin on the younger half-nation's hair.

"Gilbert." The Italian growled, his voice soft and dangerous. He immediately removed the body parts, having only heard him like this when he was in his 'mafia mode'. Lovino mumbled, more to himself than Gilbert, setting the small table in the middle of the floor with a borrowed plate and plastic silverware. The Prussian grinned.

"What was that, 'Mano?" His question was met with a smoldering glare, and a slightly louder mumble. He could make out a few words, like 'idiot', 'bastard', 'fratello', and…'thanks'?

He repeated the latter aloud. Romano looked away with a small blush dusting his cheeks, enunciating for him to understand.

"I said thanks, bastard, for letting me stay the night. And for not molesting me until I was actually awake." Gilbert grinned, holding a hand to his heart in mock agony.

"I would never! 'Tonio would _kill_ me before I could say that it would be a totally unawesome idea!" Romano was still looking away, intent on glaring at the cracked tile flooring, but he could still see the hint of a smile breaking through the almost perpetual frown. His grin grew wider.

Romano smiled at him – well, almost, but it was close enough for him to get excited about.

And that, he decided while asking what had happened the night before and getting a strangled growl in reply, was completely _awesome_.

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><p>Note: This was actually written a while ago, but since I didn't have internet on my computer, I couldn't post it. I've always liked Prussia's character, and Romano's another one of my favorites, so… I guess you can see how this happened. And I'm working on writing the one time that France made Romano smile.<p>

Yeah, okay, enough of my rambling. Send me some concrit, corrections on my spelling/grammar, or a comment on the story, per favore (I will love you forever~)?

Ciao~

Pan


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